I heard the back door of the car open. The next thing I saw was a motorbike with a passenger speeding away from our car. The passenger was holding Nazy’s purses. The back door of the car was open and, displaying my lack of James Bond genes, I instantly stalled the Alpha. The motorbike turned right onto a one-way street – the wrong way. I jumped out of the car and ran to the intersection – where I proceeded to shout unpleasant things about thieves, Catania, Sicily and life in general.
Back in the car, Nazy was distraught. We stuck: no passports, residency permits, Nazy’s mobile phone, Nazy’s Filofax Nazy’s jewelry, both sets of house keys, Nazy’s car keys: the list is too disturbing to document in full. (My papers were in Nazy’s purse.)
We drove to Avis where we complained about the defective navigation system. I cancelled the credit cards – instantly switching our anniversary gala into a budget vacation. Then we trudged into the airport to file a police report. According to Avis, we needed an official police report in order to get back into Switzerland. However, the police did not understand English, so we engaged a local to help.
It was clear that the policeman did not want to be bothered by things like crime. (It was lunch time.) After a lot of shouting and cajolery, we got a police report. We also left confident that the police would do absolutely nothing. He gave us a ‘document’ confirming the theft, but he refused to enter the information into his computer system. So, even if the passports were mailed to the police, there would be no way to get them to us. However, the official document was important: possession of a police report would allow us to obtain a new passport. We planned to handle that bureaucratic hurdle in Palermo.
We drove on to Syracuse even though Nazy simply wanted to “go home”. However, as I explained:
“We can’t go home, Nazy. We don’t have our passports.”
“I am sick of Sicily, Dan. It’s a land of thieves and scoundrels. I want to go home. As soon as you made me break the mirror, I knew we’d have bad luck. We will have..
“… I did not make you, eh, since the thief stole your purse with the broken mirror, the bad luck will pass on to him.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course, Nazy. It is well-known folklore. The bad luck has been transferred.” [That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.]
Proving my point, our hotel in Syracuse was quite nice. We took a walk along the historic waterfront, passing the Temple of Apollo and the spring that is the mythological foundation of the city. In the photo at the right, I am posing next to the vegetation.
[Note: If you enlarge the photo, you will see a brigade of fire ants repelling downward on spider silk. These poisonous natives set up camp on my left arm and then began a downward migration. I didn’t mention this to Nazy since I needed her confidence that our bad luck had disappeared.]
After a hot shower (and liberal application of skin lotion), we ventured out to see the Greek Theatre, Archimedes Tomb and various other major highlights (the shops).
For the first time since I met her, Nazy was, eh, purseless. I explained, ineffectually, that the condition was temporary. I knew that hundreds of purses had set up shop in Casa Carmen. It didn’t help. Purse withdrawal symptoms began manifesting themselves in Nazy’s demeanor. There was nothing to do but buy a purse. (And a pair of sunglasses - and five tomatoes and three peaches.)
The next day we drove on toward Agrigento, location of the least-ruined ruins in Sicily. Almost keeping with the motif of this holiday, our hotel was eh, fully ruined. [Hint: Hotels that make you sign for the TV remote control do not warrant a “luxury” appellation.] Our room was rustically furnished. Authentic plaster was peeling from the ceilings. Dripping water had sculpted the beds from a single slab of alabaster. (Alabaster is not soft.)
Surveying the situation in the light of 4 watt light bulbs, we decided to venture out. However, the city, such as it was, had closed. There were no shops, no restaurants and no diet cokes – only dust. (Hot dust: 45°C (113°F.) We opted for a cultural experience.
We drove to the hill with the famous ruins. The best preserved of the buildings, the ancient Temple of Hera, survived because it was continually reused by various conquering tribes and religious units. It has been a Greek Temple, a Roman monument to Hercules, a Carthaginian Sanctuary, a Christian Church and an Islamic Mosque. Many of the monuments in Sicily were ‘recycled’ by new rulers who dismantled and reused the building materials. However, the Temple of Hera is far from everything (a fact verified by our lengthy hike); it didn’t make sense to recycle anything.
Resolute and determined, we discussed our options in a calm and adult fashion.
“I want to go home, Dan. I want to go home now.”
“It is our anniversary, my dear,” I replied (carefully). “Our 35th anniversary, so we want to enjoy our..”
“Enjoy! Enjoy? Are you out of your mind?”
“We can’t let a few little..”
“Sicily is hot, sweaty, dusty and dirty, Dan. I want to go home.”
“We don’t have passports, Nazy. How can we go home?”
“You can do something.”
“It would have been easier if you hadn’t lost your purse…”
“… which wouldn’t have happened if you had locked the..”
“… which wouldn’t have been necessary if you hadn’t chosen Sicily…”
“… which I did only because you wanted to see…”
It wasn’t a prescription for a happy anniversary. However, aware that we were stuck, we decided to look at the bright side of the situation.
“After all, Nazy,” I said. “All of our vacations have had minor problems. We were flooded in Bangkok. A baboon stole our grapes in South Africa. We got caught in a traffic scam in Austria. I fell out of a white water raft in Costa Rica.”
“Those are rather minor, Dan.”
“Remember your birthday in London? Your flight was cancelled and we were both trapped at different airports over night.”
“Yes, Dan, but we had fun until the last minute of our trip.”
“This is the almost same thing.”
“Same thing?”
“Yep. This time we had fun until the first minute of our trip.”